A Lingering Knowledge
by skrewtkeeper
Summary: Following Minerva's unfortunate attack, upon awaking, she does not recognize the bespectacled, white bearded man before her. What will Albus do to coax her memory back?
1. Chapter 1

Title: A Lingering Knowledge  
Ship: AD/MM  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: Following Minerva's unfortunate attack, upon awaking, she does not recognize the bespectacled, white bearded man before her. What will Albus do to coax her memory back?  
A/N: This fic may be called a stretch, seeing the first problem as I portray Albus and Minerva as the same age... The second thing is that I give you a piece of influential music at the beginning of each post. I thought all you fans out there would like to know that before you flame this because of the piece of music at the beginning. That lies only to let you become acquainted with the feel of the post, so with that in mind, read, review, and enjoy!

**Prol**_**o**_**gue **

_**Please  
**__**please forgive me  
**__**But I won't be home again  
**__**I know what you do to yourself  
**__**I breathe deep, and cry out  
**__**Isn't something missing?  
**__**Isn't someone missing me?**_

_**Even though I'm the sacrifice  
**__**You won't try for me not now  
**__**Though I'd die  
**__**to know you love me  
**__**I'm more alone  
**__**Isn't someone missing me? **_

_Evanescence __"Missing"_

_The white garden gate that I so thoroughly detested swung eagerly in the mild breeze. I smiled to myself as the wind wept my hair around my face, giving me the feeling of vitality, a feeling that I had not felt for such a long time. My black tendrils of slight curls of hair swept about my face, and I beamed more broadly. The sunlight was what brought me the greatest joy at that time, though I would not mention __**this**__ to anyone I knew. Children in the neighborhood often avoided me, for I was deemed 'odd', and 'unsightly', though my parents never said such. My mother was a wrought-iron woman, and hardly said a word worthy of speaking twice, but she did mention every now and again that I was beautiful in her eyes. I always thought this to be a motherly thing, for her words were never confirmed by anyone I knew, except for one._

_A young boy around my own age was often found beyond that garden gate that I was forbidden to venture from, but who was I to ignore someone uttering my name with such sincerity, and such feeling? He often called to me in the early hours of the morning, which was the time we quickly found we both liked best. Dawn was my favorite part of the day, for it always signaled a new beginning of something. Perhaps this is why I later desired having to change into a cat, to further explore the realms of night that I always slept beneath in my younger years._

_Oftentimes we would find ourselves in a tangle of trouble, for we were forbidden, you see, to speak to other children that were not of Wizarding ways. I knew he was, for he often exhibited his powers to me, more than likely to impress me, but at the same time, he always seemed to reassure me about the things he did. When winter came around, he somehow whipped up a blanket that was as soft as a cloud, and kept even my own teeth from chattering in the constant blow of the wind. I was never fully warm for I was rather lean for my age for the longest time. When others would complain, like my mother for example, about the heat that enshrouded the country of Britain, I always said it never felt warm outside to me. It always felt the perfect temperature, except in the winter. My mother always snapped back that I needed more meat on my bones, and that then perhaps I could experience the summer as everyone else did. I fervently decided then and there to never become as plump as my mother was, for it sounded terrible to suffer in the heat of the day._

_Then, there was he again. He appeared at the most convenient times, as though he __**knew**__ when I would be waiting for him to talk about how the world was, and how things at home went. I often had nothing to say new, but oh, that dear boy would take me away in a story that he had never told, and actually engage me in a very interesting conversation. He was Pureblood, and seemed quite oblivious to such a grand title in our world. I adored and admired him for that. I actually came from a family of both parents being Muggleborns, so that boy and I would often joke about what Blood status I had actually acquired from that. It was thought for a long time that I was not of magical abilities at all, for no matter what I did, the simplistic ways of magic that he was able to deliver seemed to be beyond me. This fact did not bother him in the slightest, and often reassured me that my powers would come when they were ready, because he informed me one lazy afternoon that he could sense the powers that I held._

"_I know you have __**something**__ Min," he muttered awkwardly one afternoon, as we both sat in the sunflower field that lay just beyond our homes._

"_How can you be so sure?" I questioned, trying so hard to not cry in front of him. It was shameful that he could perform all of these acts, and I could do nothing, save watch._

_His blue eyes shot a scrutinizing look at me, before he spoke again. "Aw, Min, don't cry," he muttered, his voice full of the tang of childhood. He dug through his pockets before extracting a nice and neat tartan-edged handkerchief, and handing it to me._

"_Oh, thank you," I said gratefully as I wiped my tears away with one fluid motion, before returning it._

"_Oh no Min, this handkerchief is for __**you**__," he responded as he put the handkerchief back into my hands, and closing them with his._

"_Thank you," I replied helplessly again. __**"Perhaps if I had magic, I wouldn't weep so much,"**__ I thought bitterly to myself. I bestowed the handkerchief back into my pocket, not knowing that I would keep it for as long as I had._

"_You're welcome Min. There's no need to cry over spilled potion, at least, that's what my mum always says," he said, his starlit, azure eyes peering apologetically at me._

_I giggled, which brought a smile to his face. It was one that was all-too familiar, but I could not quite put my finger on exactly who was smiling._

"_Oh, one other thing," I began as the moment of pure happiness passed._

"_Yes Min?"_

_I hesitated, unsure if I should tell him. Finally, all reason outweighed the possibility of his reaction being a bad one, and I proceeded to declare what had been irritating me for the past few weeks he had come up with this "pet-name" for me._

"_Don't __**ever**__ call me 'Min' again," I said simply._

_He looked crestfallen, but smiled weakly up at me before saying, "Sorry Minerva." I would have probably picked out the wit in his words if it had not had been for those eyes of his. They drove me mad as to how in the World a piece of the sky could have become implanted in a pair of eyes, but somehow, his eyes were as blue as the sky above. Once his eyes graced mine with their beautiful color, I looked away, and began picking apart a blade of grass that had most likely had been ripped apart by insects._

"_Here," he began as he scooted closer to me, and entwined a single sunflower in my hair. I smiled, enjoying the subtle brushing of his hand against my hair, as he oh so gently parted my hair before placing the flower behind my ear._

"_There," he began triumphantly. "__**Now **__you're perfect Min, I mean, Minerva."_

_I smiled at him, not even trying to suppress the happiness that suddenly engulfed me at his touch. "Thank you A--"_

That was all I had of that memory. Pieces of my life were now in fragments, and this one I was so sure that I loved that somehow started with an 'A', judging by the way I had sensed my lips moving on his name, was gone. I was forgetting the one piece that linked me to something grander than the entire world put together, and I knew it. Memory was bound to be lost; at least, that is what all the Healers had informed me. I seemed to remember everything, but a piece of me was missing, and I was so frantic in finding it, that I had torn my whole room apart the day I first awoke, to find a piece that would coax me to remember. The pain of knowing that something was missing was great, and I fully intended to do something about it, once I remembered how to get back to my room and take a nap that is.


	2. Chapter One

**a/n: **Yes, this is in Dumbledore's POV. In Dumbledore's POV, the title of the chapter will be underlined. Minerva's POV will not. ;)

**Chapter O **_**n**_** e **

_**Even the best fall down sometimes,  
**__**Even the stars refuse to shine  
**__**Out of the back,  
**__**You fall in time  
**__**I somehow find,  
**__**You and I--collide  
**__**Don't stop here--  
**__**I lost my place--  
**__**I'm close behind….  
**__Howie Day "__Collide"_

I reached St. Mungo's unseen, for I was almost certain that a few Healers would gladly turn me in for a sack of gold in their names, but this did not matter. I was going to see _her_, in that effect, these trivial things did not bother me in the slightest. I shivered to some extent in the cold rain, marveling as to how in the world Minerva loved this weather so much. Perhaps it was the contrast of sunlight that had such a compelling pull on her, for I remembered with bitter familiarity that rain was not my favorite type of weather. I however, looked on the bright side, knowing it could not rain forever, and the sun would soon be out again.

I removed the invisibility charm that I had placed upon myself with hesitancy. What if a poor Muggle was to glance out one of the windows of one of these shops, and notice my sudden appearance? I merely chuckled to myself as I looked up at the dirty shops that lined the vacant street. It was evidently not a popular spot, for the shops seemed to have not been in business for several years, but I knew better. Those very shops had remained the same when I had visited it before, quite some years ago. The exterior never changed, and that always helped to point out if you were headed in the right direction. According to the scar on my knee, I quite frankly was in the correct spot, for not only were the shops distinctly familiar, but the shop that was most familiar had the name of "Purge and Dowse Ltd."

Checking in the window's reflection to be sure my disguise was as I had left it, (a young man around seventeen or so with short, curly, black hair instead of my usual long and wispy silver); I approached the dummy that was on my immediate right.

"I'm here to see Minerva McGonagall," I said softly. Though incapable of hearing, the dummy nodded lazily, and beckoned me inside. I stepped through the cool sheen of glass, feeling very grateful that someone had thought to add fireplaces in this hospital.

The interior of the hospital was a completely different story than the world outside. Conversation arose from every corner of the entrance, but due to the weather, conversation had a more laid-back and subdued ring to it. It seemed to me that here, life was never dull. That piece of information was quite unlike that of during summer vacation when all staff are expected to be at the school a few weeks before Hogwarts begins a new year. It was _then_ that my life was slightly boring. No children (that I am sure of, at least), caused me to laugh when I heard that Mrs. Norris had slipped into a filled bathtub due to a gallon or so of soap covered the floors, causing them to be slippery, which of course only resulted in that ancient cat of Argus' to fall in the Prefect's tub. Though having a certain knowledge of who did it, I unfortunately could not prove the Weasley twins guilty, and had to sadly tell poor Argus that he needed to keep a closer eye on his pets. Though I must digress to say that this happened last year, nothing that struck me with such amusement ever occurred during the summer holiday.

Pushing this meaningless memory out of my mind, I glanced at the wall to my left, which hung the sign that told of which floors held which patients. Though being able to read, I had no idea in which category Minerva's injury would fall. Spell Damage on the fourth floor, or Artifact Accidents, which lay on the floor I was situated? Deciding I had no other choice, I approached the witch at the front desk, keeping in mind that a lie may be needed to pass through this.

"I'm here to see Professor McGonagall," I stated as indifferently as I could utter, for it did cause me some disquiet if I lingered on the reason why she was placed here in the first place.

The witch had green eyes, and had long blonde hair, though her age might have very easily been forty or so. Quite young, in my opinion.

"Who might you be?" she inquired, her eyebrows slightly raised. I hesitated for a moment, trying to remember the pseudonym that I had chosen for myself. It was an easy one to remember, yet in all the excitement, I had forgotten it!

"Err…I'm Frederick Barrington, I'm an old student of hers." I muttered, feigning embarrassment at such a Muggle sounding name.

Her eyebrows shot farther up into her hairline, and she stared accusingly at me. "Minerva McGonagall is in no such state to have visitors, for she has suffered a great deal of head trauma…" I opened my mouth, ready with a retort, but the witch waved her hand in my face. "Perhaps you can return tomorrow with a guardian to verify that you're of age to be out of school today. You're actually lucky that I don't inform your parents, let alone Hogwarts itself, but I am not in charge of unaccompanied wizards, or witches for that matter, in training."

I grinned faintly as she finished. This woman was sharp, but having had a great deal of experience with Minerva, I knew how to handle sharp. "Oh, I'm of age," I remarked convincingly.

"Oh really?" her lips turned upward in a leer of satisfaction. "Let me examine your wand then, young man. Here at St. Mungo's, we strive for a safe environment, and I must ensure that visitors that look questioning are taken care of. "

I almost couldn't keep a grin off my face. It must have been over sixty years since someone has called me by 'young', but I withdrew my wand anyway, just to prove my point. The witch at the desk wrenched it from my grip, and passed a thin light-wand over it. When she was done, she looked at the screen. As I anticipated, her leer vanished from her face, and in its place, a frown replaced it within a matter of seconds.

"I suppose you _**are**_ Frederick…." she murmured contemptuously as she thrust my wand back into my hand. I was quite glad that my plan had actually worked that I almost jumped for joy, but once I remembered where I was, I refrained from doing so with difficulty. Being young again does need some drawbacks, you know.

"Well, where is she then?" I inquired thoughtfully, not wanting to sound too anticipating.

"Spell Damage, Fourth floor. I thought you could _**read**_," she sneered. I opened my mouth again, but she continued. "Ward Twelve. From the lift over there, you take two rights and then a left. She's in room 128."

"Oh. Thank you," I muttered gratefully as I turned away from the front desk, and on to the lift. My fingers began shaking, though I cannot exactly say why. I was just going to see Minerva McGonagall, whom I have loved for all of my life, I should not be nervous, and yet I was. We had both confessed our love to one another, and yet, I could not shake the feeling that something was wrong, that something was out of place. _"I'm most likely just worried to see her in this state,"_ I thought. I nodded to myself on that empty lift, feeling much better about this than I could say. Who _**wouldn't**_ be worried to see their love in such a state of dependency when beforehand, he or she seemed to get along just fine without assistance? No one, I mused, and a feeling of reassurance filled me against my will. Sometimes my emotions did not fully connect to my brain, but this was the worst case I have ever experienced such worry and reassurance at the same time. Like a tug on the heart, the two emotions fill you, and induce you to do something, though you cannot understand the motives that compel you to act upon the two emotions combined. A war rages unnoticed inside you and no one sees, nor watches your eyes dart nervously amongst the intricately designed walls. A cry for help that cannot be heard by anyone, it tears you up inside, but since no one questions, and no one realizes, you suffer, and you suffer greatly.

I shook my head again. Being optimistic in this place was much easier said than done. The lift finally clattered to a stop, and I cautiously descended from the iron-wrought floor, trying to recall what the witch at the front desk had told me. Once the number of her room and the instructions on how to get there rebounded into my mind with such force, I acted upon them, growing more nervous with every step, for now that I had reached my destination without detection, I realized something of great importance that I had so brilliantly ignored thus far. _What was I to say to her?_


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter T **_**w**_** o**

_**If I smile and don't believe  
**__**Soon I know I'll wake  
**__**From this dream  
**__**Don't try to fix me, I'm not broken  
**__**Hello  
**__**I'm the light  
**__**Living for you so you can hide  
**__**Don't cry  
**__Evanescence __"Hello"_

_A dark and dreary waste filled my line of vision. A mess of charred debris and paraphernalia littered the ground outside my once sanctuary. It was all gone. Every single bit of it, and I could not help but blame myself for the state of everything now. If I had not run away, just as I had so childishly done, my wonderful home would still be standing. I was seventeen, a witch, and I __**could **__do magic. So much magic in fact, that a simple fire was an easy thing to face with that magical strip of wood clamped between my now shaking fingertips. I sat down in the last square of green, spring grass, and put my head between my knees; weeping at the terrible pain that gripped my heart. Crying was very surreal to me, for I kept all of my emotions hidden in a thick barrier that I had established around my heart; fearful of what other people would think if I was to tell them of whom I loved, or what I felt about my life. This was the most common reason why I came off as cold and unforgiving. I was not so, for I __**did**__ love one, but the barrier, though highly inconvenient once I attempted to address my true feelings about something, it __**had**__ kept me alive up until now, and for that, I was grateful._

_The wind swept about my hair, but I no longer felt that feeling of vitality. I felt empty of everything, and I was confused as to how I could weep and yet, feel so broken at the same time. The clouds above only mirrored my feelings on the inside. Instead of white and wispy, they were thick, and heavy laden with the remainder of smoke and smog caused by the fire that had cleanly stripped away my connection to the world, for my scrapbook had been in that fire. Now mauled to indistinguishable means, it was beyond repair even __**with**__ the aid of magical repair. Though this meant nothing compared to my parents' deaths, the loss of that scrapbook meant that I could never again see my parents, for they __**were**__ Muggles. Or very close to being so, anyways. All of the people in their frames were firmly situated, and refused to budge. I lifted my head slightly, my hair in such a terrible mess for I had not felt like fixing it that morning once I heard of the fire that was over and that another battle with Muggles and the elements had been lost, and chanced a glance at the smoldering bits of what was once a scrapbook. I wept more earnestly; the realization finally hit me that I would never see my parents again._

_In an instant, I sat up, abruptly sensing that someone was watching me. I whirled around and stood; my wand still clamped in my trembling hands, ready to strike with a curse of death if situation deemed worthy. Of course, I could see no one, for my eyes were not as discernable-worthy as other witches' eyes may be. I wore square-spectacles as of yet, and I detested them with every fiber of my being. Others said I looked smart when wearing them, but I thought I looked hideous. This though, sadly, was the least of my problems._

_A man of my own age made his way up towards me, sadness glittering in his starlit blue eyes. His auburn hair and short beginnings of a beard looked oddly darker in this thick atmosphere of haze. He looked apologetic, and his features expressed concern and empathy. __**He knew what it felt like to deal with loss.**_

_I lowered my wand, but only slightly. I knew him, he was further than what you could call an acquaintance, yet his very presence caused me to feel uneasy. This made no sense, for we had virtually grown up together. How could it be that he suddenly foisted anxiety upon me when before, his air about him used to render feelings of reposefulness and somehow lower that formidable barrier between that of my feelings and my heart?_

_He strolled up towards me, leaving only the scorched low garden gate separating the both of us from each other. I winced at his smile, wondering if he came just to belittle my losses. The very thought pained me, and although I could not fathom him acting upon it, I must admit the thought caused me some distress._

"_Minerva," he began, uncertainty folding over his single, spoken word like a blanket. I glanced into his face again, tensely waiting for more, except he seemed to have no words remaining in his vocabulary apart from that of my name._

_I glared inhumanly at the one who cared so much before me. Must he interfere with everything that I suffered? He was always there, but could I not hold one moment of peace and silence without him? Was a moment of grief to myself for once too much to ask for, even from him?_

"_I don't need your comfort," I derided, my voice quavering not with sadness, but anger. _

"_I'm sorry you feel that way," he muttered, amusement now choking his meaningless words, "but you have no choice."_

"_Perhaps I would not feel like this," I snapped back, my temper rising against my futile efforts to control it, "if you would leave me be." I lifted my wand again, smirking as he raised both his hands in submission, and returned it to my pocket. As much as my anger boiled at him, I could never intentionally cause him physical pain. _

_His blue eyes overtook mine in a stare so deep I had to look away. "Minerva, I am dreadfully sorry for your loss," he whispered sadly, his eyes glistening with the tears that never fell, "but I can offer you a tiny piece of comfort if you would just allow me."_

_I chanced another glance, and witnessed the tears that he held within his sparkling blue eyes, stream down his face. For a moment, I could not breathe, watching him express all of the sadness I held within me. Then I remembered why I was so angry with him, and turned away. It was all an act. He wanted me, not for love, but for something far sinister that I declined to bend to his will. Using me would give him pleasure, and I stood my ground, avoiding his apologetic look that contained tears. "I thought you said I had __**no**__ choice!" I muttered under my breath irritably, my back to him._

"_Minerva," he began again, coming up from behind me. Before I could turn around, his arms enfolded around me. I spun around, anger boiling ferociously in the pit of my stomach, but when I looked into his eyes again, I could not mistake his true intentions. I allowed myself to bury my head in his warm, comforting shoulder, weeping silently, and refusing to allow him to glimpse my tears I shed for the one thing that no one else would or could present me. Comfort._

_When I remembered what I was doing, I backed away from him and his embrace. No matter how wonderful it felt, to be alive in the moment he had his arms securely around me to release my pain, this man did not __**love**__ me. No one did, and of that, I was sure. "No," I declared as I stepped back, away from him and his look of twisted pain and bafflement. _

"_Minerva, please," he whispered, clearly troubled by my actions, but I was not going to allow myself to sway in my decision for the likes of this man I had known for the past seventeen years. _

"_No," I whispered, my voice shaking with mingled tears and my feeble attempt at feigning disgust. "You do not love me."_

_That was all I needed to say. He choked on his last inhale, and sputtered, "M-Minerva…I __**do**__…"_

"_Lies," I spat, contempt drenching my voice and turning on the spot, but his hand clasped around my own. I kicked and thrashed in the blackness of Apparation, hating myself for the pain I was causing the both of us. His hand gently relinquished his soft grip on mine, and I spun in a whirl of color and sound, hardly knowing where I was to end up now……._

The room spun as I opened my eyes. I was lying on a bed of goose down, and my head felt stiff and heavy. I tried to sit up, not recognizing my surroundings, but a sharp pain shot through my chest, and I slumped back down into the mass of pillows and blankets. Rain splashed blurrily against the window that I glanced up at; I was in a hospital of some sort, for a reason I could not explain.

"Minerva," a voice whispered tenderly. I remembered my name, and I turned to view a fuzzy outline young man of about sixteen or so with black, ebony hair. "It's me." The only thing vaguely familiar was the sting of the brilliant blue eyes that shone brightly from the soft glare of candlelight upon the bedside table, on which my glasses lay. I snatched them up with unnecessary venom, and slapped them onto my face; deeply wishing that I recognized his voice. The brightness of his blue eyes even without the aid of my glasses was beyond noticeable. _Why_ couldn't I remember?

"I'm sorry," I whispered slowly back, dreadfully confused. "I don't know you."

"Minerva, it's me, Albus," he whispered urgently, obviously desiring nothing more than for me to recognize his name. I did not, and I had no idea who this man was before me.

"I'm sorry," I repeated, genuinely apologetic for this poor boy before me _did_ look crushed; "I _don't_ know who you are."


	4. Chapter Three

**A/N:** I honestly was not going to continue this; really I was not, but due to a reader's incessant praise of this fiction, and the enourmously overwhelming reviews I received for this fiction, (which is easily going to be called my most popular if everyone continues to review), I decided to fix the third chapter, and dedicate it to all of those who stumbled across this fiction, and decided to give it a shot, even though it is almost entirely AU. Now, with that said, I present you all with...

**Chapter Th**_**r**_**ee**

_**Let's go back to the start  
**__**Running in circles  
**__**Coming up tails  
**__**Heads on a science apart**_

_**Nobody said it was easy  
**__**It's such a shame for us to part  
**__**Nobody said it was easy  
**__**No one ever said it would be this hard  
**__**Oh, take me back to the start  
**__Coldplay __"The Scientist"_

I was falling, falling into an endless pit. What was I without Minerva? I was nothing, nothing at all. I was just _The_ Albus Dumbledore. I was as insignificant as a bug on a leaf; how could she have forgotten me? This was not something she would joke about, for I _knew_ Minerva, and I loved her dearly. The very thought that she had forgotten nothing save me, hurt.

"Minerva, it's Albus Dumbledore," I repeated countless times, even though I knew it was beyond pointless. Tears began to form at the edges of my eyes, but I held them back. I would _not_ allow her to notice me weep, even if she declared she did not know me.

_A single ray of light engulfed the room as the drapes parted expertly and swiftly along the curtain rod. I nodded slightly to one of my colleagues and as though she sensed my hesitation, quickly left the room. Despite my concern, despite my waves of grief for the one lying before me, Madam Pomfrey's actions amused me enough to smile. She was, just as ever, an incredible witch, and I was exceptionally lucky to have her on my staff. She understood not only pain, mental and physical, but also feelings. I am sure the reason why she suddenly disappeared into her office from the private room I was now sitting in was the cause of my feelings of deep love and concern to overwhelm myself; Minerva did not look well._

_I slowly turned my gaze toward her features, wondering how on earth she appeared so youthful in this latter stage of age. Automatically, I withdrew my hand from hers and stroked her cheek, marveling as to how on Earth she fell in love with me after I had truly loved her since we were children. I waited on her for the longest time, wondering if I should allow myself to become infatuated with her, but as time wore on, that occurred without any assistance from me. Just sitting here now watching and hearing her breathe was so tantalizing. I removed my stroking hand and returned it to resting lightly on her right hand, stroking it ever so passionately as I expected her to wake. I had honestly waited for more than three days, (this being the third morning), for her to wake, but the fatigue was slowly worming its way into my tired eyes._

"_Minerva," I quietly implored as I stroke her hand more fervently, "please wake up." Just as with the other days, she slept on, and despite this, I still felt the hope that had ignited within me as the rising of the sun, fall. I smiled as I realized that there were so many things I had taken for granted in our burgeoning relationship that I had overlooked the little things. The smiles, the laughs, the sparkle in her eyes when her gaze happened to fall on my own, the kisses…_

_Without thinking, I brought her hand to my chest, and let it rest upon my own beating heart which was pounding under this simulated of touch of her skin. My eyes quickly darted to her face, tensely anticipating a reaction with my eyes scrunched almost shut, but when none came, I continued with my impromptu confession, if it consisted as such. "Minerva, I yearn for nothing more than you to get better--" I broke off, watching for an indication of her hearing my voice, strained and raspy due to the lack of sleep._

_A small squeeze on my shoulder caused me to wince slightly, but I did not jump. I slowly replaced Minerva's hand, her lovely, petite hand back upon her lap. It pained me as I wordlessly read the woman's thoughts from behind me, concealed somewhat in a haze of concern and worry. Worry that Minerva would never fully become well again, or that a Healer would burst in, ready to take Minerva, _my_ Minerva, my precious sweet angel to St. Mungo's, and view a particularly weary Albus Dumbledore, refusing to leave her side._

"_Albus," she begins hesitantly, concern lacing her words, but pain marring them to an indistinguishable tone; Poppy never sounded so--broken. "It's time to leave." It was neither a request, nor a suggestion. An order if I ever heard one._

_I vacated my chair abruptly, finding my back and neck stiff with the pain of having sat still for so long. Grimacing at the forgotten pain, my words, though needing to come as a reassuring response came forth as a whisper, barely audible in the room as the impression of a sickbed took its toll on the mood and feel of the room._

"_I know," I whispered, stealing a glance at my beloved, still sleeping peacefully on the bed before turning back to Poppy. I painstakingly made my way from the room, wishing beyond wishes that it were _I _lying in that bed. Her attack was my fault; had I been at Hogwarts when such a treacherous event transpired, I could have launched myself in front of those impending blows that silenced her conscious mind and body._

"_Albus, that's not all I wanted to say--" she broke off, frightened when I ceased my journey and merely stood near the door, edgily waiting for the upsurge of words that were sure to follow._

"_What else did you believe necessary to tell me?" I inquired quietly, my voice losing the twinkle entirely. It was cold and so unlike my own that I shuddered discreetly._

_She inhaled sharply at my verbal blow, and as I turned to view her, she shuddered herself. "Albus, Minerva may not….make it…" Despite how true I knew these words to be, they stung. As when tangled in a hornet's nest, the sting would not disappear after the words departed from her fair lips, somehow sharing the same color as Minerva's own. Tears welled up in my eyes at the thought of only having the Mediwitch's lips to remind me of my dea--no, I could not possibly think of that dreaded word. It was more terrible than any other word I have yet to come across. Demise and end were effortless words to understand, words that did not sting, for one always knew that starting over was always an option. "The-End", while written oftentimes in almost every story read by man, it never does mean so. The story will always continue, but when a writer has written that someone has died, there is no turning back. There are no second chances. Dead is dead, and though the words that reestablish the belief that a chance may be hidden somewhere are hindered, it is a fallacy to assume that because one is dead another can no longer live. Yet, I myself pondered this: how could I live knowing I could have saved my dearest Minerva?_

"_She will make it; I hold her best interests at heart," I reply openly, almost cheerfully as Poppy's face intermingles between feelings of disbelief, shame, and pity._

"_Albus, you must understand that in cases like these, and with her age thrown into that figure, survival dramatically--" she begins in somewhat of a stern tone, but I shoot her down before more disheartening and untrue words were uttered._

"_Poppy, she will make it," I am glad to find that my false-cheery voice has evaporated, and in its place is my normal voice, if not enfeebled by the soft moan of regret that escapes my throat. "Thank you for all that you do. You are truly one of the best matron's a Headmaster could ask for…" After placing a chaste kiss on her hand, I swept over silently to Minerva's bedside once more, fearing that this would be the last time I would ever see her again. "Minerva," I sigh softly, enclosing my arms around her small frame with slight difficulty at her position. I hold her sitting up, and I hear the quick and vibrant steps of Poppy, ready to interfere should my goodbye go wrong. "Poppy, I can take it from here," I whisper softly. I hear her retreat, and reluctantly depart from the room as I turn my attention back to the one that held my heart in her hands._

"_Oh my dearest Minerva," I murmur, pulling her into my lap upon the bed, and allowing her to rest her head upon my chest as I stroke her hair. "This last gift I grant to you, hoping we will meet again." Silently, but surely, I raise my mouth to hers in the most tender kiss I could manage. Though she did not respond, I felt that my gift to her was enough. In an instant, I disappeared away to the night in which we both declared our love. I smiled against her immobile lips, relishing in the warmth they retained. Perhaps she was going to make it after all. After gingerly replacing her back into her bed, and making her as comfortable as possible, I allowed our clasped hands to slowly let go. Tears softly tempted at the edges of my eyelids, but I did not heed their pressings. I turned, walking away to the world beyond without Minerva by my side. As I thought this, I could not help but take another glance at her in her bed. The sunlight hit her hair perfectly, and created an ebony halo around her head. I smiled lovingly, and though it may have been the trick of the light, but I could have sworn that a subtle smile graced her lovely lips for a split second before returning to the ignorant façade she held when I first arrived. _

_Why were partings so difficult?_


	5. Chapter Four

**a/n:** I suppose you are all sick of these little author notes, yes? Well, too bad. They are here to stay. I think I PM-ed everyone who reviewed, and a big THANK YOU goes out to all of those individuals... I now present you with the final installment... (HA! Got you, didn't I? Didn't think so. It was worth a try nonetheless). I now present all of my wonderful, wonderful reviewers with the fourth chapter, (which is a bit longer, but I'm guessing the more the MMAD-ness, the better!)

**Chapter F**_**ou**_**r**

_**To think I might not see those eyes  
**__**Makes it so hard not to cry  
**__**And as we say our long goodbyes  
**__**I nearly do.**_

_**Light up  
**__**Light up  
**__**As if you have a choice  
**__**Even if you cannot hear--my voice  
**__**I'll be right beside you dear  
**__Snow Patrol __"Run"_

I raised a shaky and weary hand to shield my eyes from the brightness of the celestial heavens. The sun was oftentimes bothersome on mornings when all one wishes to do is sleep. Rubbing my eyes inconsistently and rather sleepily, I take in the view of the chaos sprawled out around me. I was still in St. Mungo's, and I was itching to flee from the place. I had seen far more than I wanted to see in the field of a Healer, and I did not intend to view more dire and attention-seeking affairs by witches and wizards who should be smart.

Fumbling with my dressing gown for a moment, I remove my glasses from the bedside table and place them on my nose; trying to remember if I had taken them off last night--I hadn't. I shook my head, somewhat annoyed at the Healers. Surely, they could have woken me. Surely, they could have avoided touching me anymore than they were required to! I stumbled into the adjoining restroom to my room a few minutes later, clutching robes of emerald green and the fluffiest towel I could have the fortune to find. This bath would not be a comfortable one.

I swayed slightly as I bent down to draw warm water into the tub, cursing myself for being so stubborn; to have refused the cane was a mistake on my part. I shook my head again, rolling my eyes in the process. Not only did they have to remove my glasses from my face every night, but also they now had control over me. I did not wish to beg for such a tool; even the most oldest of men never used a cane! When the bath was full, I snapped the door shut behind me, feeling as though I was missing something very important to me. Naturally, I began to search the extremity of the room, again finding nothing as I always did.

Sighing in defeat, I started to gingerly remove my robes, wincing as they pulled and caught at the broken skin. I reluctantly directed my gaze towards the mirror, which reflected my own broken self. I looked terribly unattractive, and though I have never quite prided myself in being so, tears formed uselessly in my eyes, ready to fall, but I would not let them. I _could_ _not_ let them. My hair came in spidery wisps, which caused me to flinch. I looked old. I shook my head, testing how my hair moved, and was sad to see that it moved as though it were a wig. I hastily reached up and pulled on my hair, and was pleased to find it was not a wig, but my hair was the least of my troubles at the moment.

Scanning the wounds on the uppermost portion of my chest, I winced. The Healers had mentioned to me that they scars may never heal entirely. I winced as I brushed my hand over my collarbone--where most of the damage had occurred. It appeared to be in worse shape than it felt. Angry, red marks fell in odd shapes all around my brushing hand. Within the angry red marks, there was purple and blue bruising, followed by what I can only describe as a hole in the flesh. Black and burnt flesh lay within those four circular marks, causing me to retch at them. The Healers were correct; I should have stayed in bed for a few more days. At my pain, tears formed again in my eyes, and I let them fall, wishing that I did not feel so vulnerable, so alone in this world. Many people looked up to me; I could not let an injury lose sight of that. Glancing away from my face in the mirror, (which looked about as terrible as I felt), I glanced at the drain board, and was surprised to find a ring that I recognized. I must have forgotten that I wore a ring. I pulled it on my index finger, and was delighted to find it was a perfect fit--it was extremely beautiful, had roses carved in silver around the face of the band, and in the center was a dark green jewel, to rival even the forest green of evergreen trees. As I finally settled down into the bath, (which had stayed warm due to a complex charm of mine), a memory pulled at the edges of my vision, and I surrendered, being too exhausted to avoid it.

_The light threatened to blind me as I stared into the sun, along with the boy beside me. I was, at best, ten or twelve years of age, and him and me, both knew it. Though his age mimicked my own in likeness and quality, his intellect always seemed more pronounced than my own, with the exception of today of course. For some reason, we had challenged the other to stare into the sun for as long as the other could. I was almost certain that I was winning, for no matter what we did, he always seemed to be more of a loser than a winner was, but I found this to be unimportant knowledge… He was a winner to me._

"_Min, I think I'm going to lose!" he exclaimed in a worried voice._

"_What did I tell you?" I inquired gently, determined to have him catch his own mistake, and not have me point it out to him. It was true that I had requested such a tall and foreboding order from him a few years before, but he always had a knack for letting his nickname for me slip every now and again. For the past two months, I had said not a word about it, resolute in the fact that he would not remember my request to call me by my real name if I did not scold him for two months about it._

_I figured he shrugged beside me, but I refused to tear my gaze from the sun, knowing I would lose if I did. "Um, the sun is difficult to stare at?"_

_I snickered. I knew he would not remember. "You seem to have forgotten, so I don't feel it necessary to tell you…" I trailed off, reveling in his silence, which occurred rarely. He always had a mouthful to say, but I was the only one that could get him to become silent._

_He sighed, evidently catching his mistake. "I'm sorry Minerva, but 'Min' is so much easier to say. In fact, I could call you 'Erva' instead, but I feel as though you would appreciate that less…."_

"_For once, you have got something about me correct," I mused aloud, smiling at the sun, knowing I had caught his tongue for the second time that day. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" I asked him jokingly._

"_Ha, ha, very funny, Min--erva…" he said quietly, evidently hoping that I did not catch him stumbling over my name, but catch it I did. Yet, before I could fully inflict my wrath upon him, I heard a discontented whisper reach my ears. "I lost!" _

_Gratefully, I turned away from the sun, but now could not see. "Can you see?" I asked, my voice quavering in worry._

"_Not exactly," his soothing reply uttered. I felt relief at once; he did not leave me. After several minutes, we both regained our sight, and began making comments about one another's eyes. His beautiful, sky-encrusted eyes were shadowed in red, which caused me to recoil slightly. I should have called defeat when my eyes first began to burn. _

"_Come here dearest," he whispered in worry_. _"I can't have your lovely eyes looking like that…" I approached him nervously. He could do magic. In fact, wonderful magic that caused me to sigh in awe, but I was frightened of his magic for the first time in my life. What if he made a mistake, and I became blind forever?_

"_No, I'm certain the red will vanish in a few moments…" I remarked hastily._

"_Oh do come now. Your mother would be most displeased when she finds what we did. I will be very gentle, I promise…" he trailed off, and I could not say no despite my own worry. After shuddering for a moment when he told me I needed to close my eyes, I felt his hand upon mine in an instant, and was suddenly reassured. After a minute or two, he muttered to me that I could open my eyes again. His eyes, I could see, were still completely red, and I worried for a moment about him before I asked him something._

"_The red is gone, correct?"_

"_Most entirely. I must admit that you were very willing for the magic, despite how you shivered for a slight second when I first began to try to fix you. I do not think, however, that we should do that again anytime soon. I want to see you all the time, Minerva," he murmured quietly, but just enough so I could hear. _

_I smiled up at him, which, in turn, reflected upon his face. His nose turned slightly upwards, and his cheeks grew apart in merriment. But his eyes, oh Merlin, his eyes, those regal, beautiful, beautiful, sky-blue eyes smiled too. The redness disappeared in an instant when he smiled, and those eyes that I adored so very much seemed to shine as brightly as the sun, and I smirked in remembrance. At least staring into his eyes did not hurt, that was all I had to say._

_As our gazes wandered somewhat embarrassedly away from the others, I heard a voice calling my own with the sweet, calm-inflicting voice he possessed. "Minerva, I have something for you."_

_I turned and what befell my eyes was the form of him, rummaging through his deep pockets. As if he could sense me staring, he stopped suddenly and met my gaze with his for half a second. He appeared to be worried about having lost whatever the object was. "One second please," he muttered in an irritated tone, reminding me vaguely of my father when he was on the telephone--a device used by Muggles to communicate to one another over long distances. I smiled somewhat at this thought, but was disheartened to find him so utterly nervous at having lost one of his possessions he meant to present to me._

"_It's alright," I soothed, patting him lightly on the arm. "I believe they say that it is the thought that counts…"_

"_No Min, this was important…" he trailed off, finally digging in a forgotten pocket in his hat before abruptly extracting a small band of some sort. "Aha! I've found it!" he exclaimed, overcome with joy._

"_Found what? A forgotten package of chocolate that has now melted in your hat?" I asked teasingly, having no willpower to keep my voice as level as possible. In other words, the hilarity could not only be heard in my voice, but it could also be _seen_._

_He rolled his eyes lightly, though nervously, having not yet forgotten his confrontation with the sun. "No, much better. Here you are…" He held out his closed hands to me, and gently urged me to hold both my hands before him, flat and open. In silence, he dropped the object, which I immediately recognized as the ring that we had played with when younger. Five years of age in fact._

"_Oh, I couldn't!" I exclaimed, overcome with raging emotions. The majority of which being absolute disbelief. Surely, his mother would murder him…._

"_But Minerva, this is for you…"_

"_You spoil me far too much. We are friends, and I do not believe we need to go about spending precarious amounts of money on the other. Not yet anyways…"_

"_Ah, but Minerva, you seem to have forgotten something important. This I did not buy--through a series of agreements with my mother, I was able to acquire possession of it, and I now give it to you, knowing just how much you loved it when we first 'played' with it," his tone was sincere, and I could not help but to believe him. I placed it on my index finger, marveling at such kind actions from that of my best friend._

I awoke, sputtering and gasping in the tub of which I had fallen asleep within. The water was cold, but not so cold to cause me immediate harm. It appeared as though I had fallen prey to sleep a short time after placing that ring on my finger…

Remembering the instance, I removed my hand from the soapy water, and was glad to see it was okay. Some of my better rings' meetings with bath water resulted with terrible endings because they were not as goblin-made as they appeared. This ring, however, was. I could sense the magic that flowed from the ring into my very being, and I happily welcomed it. Perhaps the ring was what I had been missing all along. As I dried my hair and pulled my emerald cloak around me, determined to leave that morning, and feeling contemptuous to having a dire need to ask for a cane, I remembered an important factor in my distant memory. Those eyes burned into my soul, and I knew that whoever had those eyes was the thing I was missing, the person in fact. I was missing a person in my life!

I smiled at the sudden realization. Surely, I could remember him… I sifted through every memory of that boy with blue eyes in my memory, but no matter what I did, I could not remember him or his name. I found this to be quite saddening. How could I have forgotten such an important piece of my life? No wonder I felt so lonely in this unforgivable place! No one had visited me at all; apparently, no one cared at length to whether or not the great Minerva McGonagall happened to survive her horrific attack. _"All expect one," _a voice in my head taunted.

Yes, there was one. But he looked so unlike the boy I remembered. I closed my eyes, trying to remember the incident that had occurred over a week and a half ago. Facts and images meshed into one giant mess. Realization hit me like a knife in that instant for a second time. Whoever he was, he had those definite, blue eyes.


	6. Chapter Five

**a/n:** Wow. That is all I can honestly say to the responses. I believe I got you all on PM's, but if I didn't, please let me know! I bow down to all of my readers. Without them, I am nothing. Anyways, the delay for this chapter was due to me having the inability to locate appropriate lyrics for the feelings in this one... :D I had several songs in mind, and though I'd decide upon one, none of them sounded perfect. I then came across the following song, and I was like, "THAT'S IT!" xD To say the least, I was excited... For all of you out there still reading this pathetic Author's Note, I have to add that the song is all there--that is actually how long the song is, and I really am not sure if Evanescence did it, or just Amy Lee herself. Oh well. I credited it anyway. ; Well, without further ado, here is the chapter! (Chapters are getting longer, I know. I hope everyone likes longer chapters, because I think I'm going to be writing more of those. )

**Chapter Fi**_**v**_**e**

_**Goodnight,  
**__**Sleep tight,  
No more tears.**_

_**In the morning  
I'll be here  
And when we say goodnight  
Dry your eyes  
Because we said goodnight, and not goodbye  
We said goodnight, and not goodbye  
**__Evanescence __"Goodnight"_

_Her breathing is labored; I can see even from this distance. The black clouds eclipse her face, but I am certain it is she. I stride aimlessly, silently, wonderingly towards her with my own breaths quickening. She is kneeling in the snow, dirtied with scarlet trails of blood, leading to still figures in this silent field. Apart from the howling wind, there is nothing, and no one left…_

_My heart aches bitterly for all the souls lost from beneath Grindelwald's regime. All were innocent souls: men, women, and children lying before me with open and glassy eyes. Their deaths are no accident, and as much as my anger drives me to turn away from this world and go after him myself, I cannot. I cannot leave someone so alone, in a world so broken._

_I shuffle my feet as I draw nearer, doing my best to catch her attention without startling her, but to my greatest surprise, she does not even move. There is something terribly, terribly wrong I know, but I can in no way help. How can I offer her aid when I have no idea what is wrong? _

"_What time is it?" Her voice is vehement, and causes me to step back for a moment._

"_Six-thirty," I reply in a muted whisper. Thankfully, she hears me, and delves further into the surrounding darkness where she sits. I watch, dumbfounded at first, but realization slowly dawns on me. Someone of her own family is gone. _

_My heart constricts even more agonizingly than before. Grindelwald was causing my Minerva pain. I will not stand for it anymore. As I consider this, Minerva's voice beckons me to the present for a second time._

"_Frederick McGonagall…." she whispers to herself apparently. I fix my eyes upon the huddled mass upon the ground, and chance a glance to her face as she crawls away from the scene, and back away from the trees. "He was my brother, but much older than I. He left our house when I was about three, though I saw him every now and again… He died in battle today…" she breaks off abruptly, and I painfully wonder if she is trying not to cry._

"_Minerva," I begin uncertainly, hardly knowing what else I was to tell her. When faced with death, Minerva became… less of herself._

"_Oh, it's perfectly all right Albus," she says in a high voice, so unlike her strict-Scottish voice I have become accustomed to over the years. "I hardly knew the lad…"_

"_Minerva," I whisper warningly. If she did not stop, the pain would quickly spring and engulf her…_

"_He smiled at me. Do you realize that apart from you, he was the only man that ever thought to smile or talk to me? Sure, I got stares, but he seemed to know that stares were not what I desired…" she continues in that high voice, sickening me slightly with how terrible the irony emphasizes her dead voice._

"_Minerva," I say more loudly, in a more enunciated tone. If she were to do this, she should at least look at me. Maybe I could help… If only she would allow. "This will not help matters."_

"_Who's to say that it won't?" She asks, abruptly, coldly, in a terribly low voice that causes me to drop to my knees beside her._

"_I do." I say so cautiously, wishing desperately that I knew what she was thinking. Out of all of these years, I have never been able to read her thoughts. When it appeared that I had done so, I had merely guessed. I thank the stars above that my guesses are usually correct, but tonight, this lonely unforgettable night, guesses did not have a proper place._

_Her eyes turn to mine furiously, and anger crackles within them. I do nothing, and wish I could stop staring. Did she not say that was what irritated her? I reassured myself that by staring at her eyes--and nothing…else, I would be safe. "How do you know _Albus Dumbledore_? You have never faced such things with the bravery that all of your followers exclaim you to hold!" she exclaims scathingly, almost tauntingly, twisting my name around with her voice and sneering tone. I wince slightly, but I do not withdraw my gaze at her eyes, wishing beyond all of my wishes that I could break that barrier of her mind and see what she was thinking. If it would help, I would do anything for her._

"_Minerva," I begin softly, "my dearest, dearest Minerva…"_

"_Oh don't you 'oh my dear' me!" she screeches, finally heeding to the shouting cries in her heart and mind. I smile somewhat, glad that I eradicated some of the foreboding wall. _

"_How can I not, when you are my dear?" I inquire quietly, motioning her to me with my words._

"_Is this what you always do?!" she cries in a fit of rage, standing up quickly, and retracting her wand from within her ripped and torn ebony robes. "When someone has died, all you can do is try and tempt the survivor?!"_

"'_Tempt'? Hardly. I was merely telling you what you are Minerva. You fought valiantly tonight, and what you receive from such an act of courage is your last remaining relative dead… One would think that a tear or two would replace this anger you are now acting upon."_

"_Anger? I'm not angry," she spits in a calmer tone, as she irritably stows her wand away, but I know she is hurting, and I scrunch my eyes together to keep my tears from interfering. If anything, she needed comfort. An emotion I was more than willing to grant, but an emotion she found as a weakness; a level of fragility she would never sink to, even when in loveless pain. Or so she thought. Pain is in no way a weakness._

"_I believe you are in pain then," I say this lightly, raising my wandering hand to hers, and I revel in triumph when she does nothing but stare at our entwined hands. The barrier is now falling. "I know I cannot repair you in the way that your brother's presence may, but I could try…" I stand to make eye contact, breaking her concentration for a moment as her gaze flickers anxiously towards my face._

"_Albus," she whispers in a sad and quiet voice, and I smile soothingly. She falls nonchalantly in my embrace, and she clings to me uneasily, relaxing as the seconds pass on to minutes, the minutes passing on to hours. I notice immediately that she is weeping, but noiselessly. Both my hands stroke her back with the most gentle and comforting of touches. I have no desire to let her go. I would not allow my Minerva to wallow in such gruesome pain. She was worth much more than that to me._

"_Pain is not a weakness," I say softly, "why is that so difficult for you to believe, Tabby?"_

_She inhales a shuddering gasp, and I pull her closer, nonverbally gesturing her to bury her head completely into my chest. She obliges for a moment, but murmurs, "It's all I've ever known. My mother prided herself in showing no emotion…I was taught the same I suppose…" she says no more, but I do not care. I love her far too much to pry._

"_I'll take you away…" I trail off, and for a moment, just a single moment; she treads back a fraction of a step to raise an inquiring eyebrow. "I'll take you away my dear, far away where no one can hear or see you weep. I will not allow you to leave until you have cried every single tear that you have held in all of these dark years. I love you, and I cannot bear to see you like this…"_

_She shivers, and I fearing that the cold is getting to her as it is to me, I pull her back to my chest. As wonderful as this felt, I could never take advantage of her. "Thank you… for everything in this world." My cloak muffles her words, and I sigh softly as her breath swishes gracefully into my ear. She was graceful without even trying._

_She steps back a second time, and stares at my eyes. No words are left, and I am certain I have won the battle between both our hearts. Her eyes sparkle so brightly that tears begin to fall again. Without a word, I reach my hand up, and wipe them away. I grin a ridiculous grin when I realize that her eyelids flutter closed whenever I happen to touch her face. I suppose she has deeper feelings for me than she has previously told me._

"_Do you love me?" I inquire suddenly, wondering if such a question had reason to allow me asking at a wrong time. Her emerald eyes darken for a fraction of a second before she smiles the sweetest smile at me._

"_How could I not?" She whispers back her response so eloquently that I can no longer contain my desires and myself. I gently stroke her chin, and she pulls closer as a way of reaction. Her arms slide around my neck, and I firmly press her to my body, trying my best to hold both of our weights. If she were to fall, I had to catch her._

_Her lips beckon me, and I stare at them for a moment before cautiously looking back at Minerva's face--she did not like stares. What befell my eyes was not her infamous anger, however. It was a peculiar mixture of questioning, love, affection, and curiosity. Not at all anger. I smile before I inch my head forward, remaining cautious for her. Only for her. If not for her, I would have already kissed her fiercely with that suppressed passion I always held for my Minerva._

_She smiles coyly, and I know she is playing with me. I repress the urge to roll my eyes friskily back with difficulty. My breaths came in gasps, but Minerva solved things after that. Her lips found mine, and I could no longer breathe at all. Our kiss began as gentle, my lips stroking hers lovingly, savoring the kiss that forgetfulness prevailed over for such a long time. She responded gently back, tasting my lips with her tongue, and snickering in what I can only think of as her discovery of just how much my lips tasted like lemon drops._

_Soon after the gentleness was not enough, the kisses increased in explosive passion. At one point, I could have sworn I heard her moan, but I believe that I swallowed her gasp. I smiled against her mouth, before we both broke apart simultaneously, coughing and sputtering for renewed oxygen. We both laugh at our reactions, and for a moment, the entire world melts away as she approaches me for a second time, a devilish glint in her striking emerald eyes…_

I awake, coughing and sputtering against something warm and soft. I smile at my lack of oxygen, for Minerva would not care, but as I open my eyes, I realize I am sorely mistaken. A pillow is stuffed halfway down my throat. I sigh irritably, and wrench the piece of bedding out of my mouth, retching slightly as I remove it. I throw the pillow across the room, and wish the memory I indulged in could happen in reality for a second time. I automatically reach beside me, searching for Minerva's small frame, but she is nowhere, just as she is every night I awake from the most terrible of dreams. This last one was not as bad as the rest. In fact, the dream I had happened to dream was one of my most wonderful ones, which was warily surprising. Why had tonight been different?

I rise from the bed, checking the grandfather clock mounted on the wall before padding towards the kitchen. It is 4:30 A.M. Hardly the time to consider for breakfast, but as exhausted as I was, I knew I would not be able to fall asleep again that night. Fate could only be so kind. I should feel lucky, even grateful that I was able to relive that memory in full, down to the lightest touches. I halt my descend atop the landing of my magnificent staircase in my home, breathing deeply for a moment, reliving those precious seconds with Minerva before straining to pull myself back into the present. Why was it that I could not let her go? At times like these, I wished with all my heart that I could bring her back into my arms, but I could not. I knew I could not, and this thought pained me… In fact, it consumed with pain insomuch that I had not slept for the past week and a half in full. As I looked to the pink sky, I smile slightly, realizing that where Minerva was, it was now night.

"Goodnight my flower…I'll watch you as the dawn kisses your hair with its awakening light…"


End file.
